When I was younger, maybe 16 or 17, I wrote letters that – in every sense – were love letters. Except smack in the middle was the sentence, “This isn’t a love letter or anything.” As if adding that sentence would somehow prevent me from any hurt or rejection that was coming my way. As if it would stop that person from running if they wanted to.
***
I told the man and his daughter sitting next to me on the airplane that I was crying for my dead friend.
I didn’t feel bad about it.
Sometimes we tell lies to make sense of it to ourselves. Sometimes we hurt others in the process.
Sometimes it doesn’t matter. Most of the time it does.
When does the lie stop being white? Does it stop being white if I tell him your name?
What about if I show him your picture?
***
I’ve written so many poems about this. About the running. Sometimes it’s about you, sometimes it’s about me. The way you took the love I shoved down your throat like a spoonful of cinnamon in the mouth. The way the fridge is full of leftovers that I forgot to eat and I still don’t know how to love myself properly. I’ve written poems that say I don’t want to be sad anymore. But I’m not. Not really.
***
I am enduring a large, very critical, period of personal growth and it is of great benefit that I must spend so much time on buses and trains. This leaves much room for self-reflection, for many thoughts to pass through – and I must do exactly that, let them pass through. While I am on the move, there is no question of where I need to be going, for I am on my way. In this headspace, I can assess myself with the same lens. I am in growth, so there need not be any questions or doubts about where I am headed, for I am on my way.
***
And then I wrote the nicest thing I have ever written about you.
You were,
“influential in developing my capacity to love.”
***
I’ve gotten much closer to the point where I can say,
“Hey, this is a big ol’ love letter.
This is a big ol’ confession of the heart.
I think you’re wonderful. I think you’re lovely.
I want to spend time with you. My days and my nights.
I think having you in my life is pretty awesome.
You are all the poetry I could ever need.”
And that’s it. It’s big. But I’m not going to pretend I don’t feel. You can handle it how you’d like to. But this is me. My love for you does not depend on you. This is my love for you, and how you respond is on you. But this is how I feel. This is the magnitude of it.